The Revealers by Doug Wilhelm

got mad about the rotten things kids did to him—I think he kept how he felt about all that stuff down deep, like he’d made a wall inside himself. But when those girls did such a nasty, evil thing to his new friend, the wall crumbled. It all started coming up.

    â€œListen,” I said, “let’s go outside. All right? Let’s just go outside.” I took Elliot’s elbow and steered him out the doors.
    He kept saying, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this!”
    We were walking up Union Street. Elliot was walking fast. Suddenly he turned to me and said, “You think she won’t ever talk to us again?”
    The cars were loud, going by. I said, “What?”
    â€œMaybe she won’t talk to us anymore!”
    â€œWhy? We didn’t do anything.”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “Because we know?”
    â€œKnow what—that stuff they wrote? Look, they made it up,” I said. “Just forget about it.”
    Elliot stopped in front of an old red church that’s a part-time thrift shop. On the front steps it had some swollen cardboard boxes with old clothes spilling out of them. I remember that, ’cause that’s where Elliot went nuts.
    â€œI’m not going to forget about it!” he yelled at me. “I’m sick of what people do, okay? I’m SICK of it!”
    â€œOkay. Elliot, it’s okay.”
    â€œStop saying that! It’s not okay— IT SUCKS! Somebody has to do something!” His face was all strange. “Somebody has to pay!”
    I just stood there. Elliot turned and started walking fast and jerky through the yard of the old church, heading for his house. Then he turned back and yelled at me one more time.
    â€œSomebody has to!” he hollered, standing on that scraggly lawn. Then he took off.

BIRD BOY
    I’ve never figured out if Elliot planned to do what he tried to do the next day to a particular group of people, or if he was just ready to go after the first people who picked on him. Or if he had any plan at all. I’ve never asked him.
    But it was the Jock Rots. It makes sense, in a way. After all, they were his number-one tormentors.
    There were three Jock Rots, as I’ve said. After school they were always together, back then. Burke Brown was short, dark haired, and sharp faced—he was wicked fast and aggressive in sports, and sarcastically mocking with anyone who wasn’t. Jon Blanchette was the golden boy. He was golden haired and liquid good at every sport there is, and at pretty much anything else. Blanchette always looked like he was about to laugh, either at how easy life was for him, or at you. Burke needed to be cool—Blanchette just was.
    And there was Big Chris. Big Chris was big and acorn headed but not dumb at all, actually, just kind of loyal and there. At least, until this happened, he was there. After what happened that day, Big Chris never acted quite the same.
    Anyway. To go home, Elliot walks past the park. It doesn’t
have a name, it’s just the park. It has tennis and basketball courts beside the road, and behind them a big open field, then a wooden footbridge over the river to the Little League fields. The river is not very big or wide, but it’s full of big rocks below the bridge, where a short little waterfall pours down. In summer kids mess around a lot down there below the fall and the rocks, where the water smooths out.
    All day Elliot had acted edgy, fidgety, like a nervous little bird. Catalina wouldn’t look at him or me or anyone. I knew they were both really upset. I had a bad feeling about almost everything.
    So when Elliot left school, I followed. I didn’t turn on Chamber, I didn’t watch for Richie. I just kept an eye on my friend.
    The Rots were on the basketball court at the park. When they spotted Elliot coming they sauntered out in the street.
    Casually they surrounded him. Blanchette slapped him